A few days ago, I was feeling sorry for myself.  I kept making typing errors because my hands were shaking of tremors. My bladder hadn’t slept well, so I got up one too many times. Bills were piling up and all I had to look forward to were co-pays for rehab, chiropractors, and cardiologists, who passed off my concerns to neurologists, urologists, and physical therapists. I think you get the “gist!” I had cramps in my leg, didn’t feel well, the room would spin, and the two dogs needed to go out again. I felt inactive, overweight, tired, and depressed. Even TV series, movies, and books were unappealing and too much effort. However, don’t worry, my wife talked me down from the ledge.

While I was in this funk, I came up with new labels for the days of the week that often all felt like “blah!” We already had “Salad Sundays,” Meatless Monday,” “Hump Day,” “Fry Day,” and “Trash Day,” to help keep track of slippery time as it all to quickly passes in retirement. It’s been seven years since I’ve worked and all of my bosses and most of my close co-workers are retired or dead.  Running every day is no longer part of my life. I would like to find something constructive to do with my time, but I’m still not sure what that would be, given my lack of references, limited transportation, and current health issues. Extensive travel has helped keep my mind occupied, but we’re running out of places to go. Plus, every time we end up at a fancy resort, it’s really not that much different than being at home, surrounded by the same amenities. 

I’m fortunate to have a loving family, great friends, cute pets, and warm-hearted neighbors. We have a beautiful home in a beach community, and only one car to worry about these days. Most of our driving is by golf cart. The yard work and landscaping are taken care of by the HOA, but I still have to change a light bulb on occasion. All I have to do is pay the bills, hoping that our Social Security checks and pension payments arrive on time.

Unlike the other men in our neighborhood, I’m not handy and don’t even wash my own car. They seem content with making home improvements, changing the oil, rotating the tires, and helping others do the same. They golf, play pickle ball, tennis, or bridge, while I don’t even enjoy watching. Sadly, my wife is convinced that I do such a poor job when it comes to housework, so I’m not asked to do it! The problem is that I have no active hobbies other than writing. Baseball card and coin collecting has become unrewarding and often too expensive on a fixed income. I seem to be more into getting rid of stuff than accumulating more, wishing my wife felt the same. 

I’m content but bored, trying to work my body back to normal, and restricted from most of the activities that I don’t do anyways. Monitoring my blood pressure is about as fun as it gets. As a result, I’ve come up with “Meaningless Mondays,” “Trite Tuesdays,” “Worthless Wednesday,” “Trivial Thursdays,” “Fruitless Fridays,” “Slothful Saturdays,” and “Sedate Sundays,” all making for another “Blah!” week. By the way, I’m only half-kidding so please don’t call 9-1-1.

I started my Sunday with a restless puppy and a couple of simple outdoor tasks. My leg was still bothering me, taking all the attention away from the balance and dizziness issues. I sat down most of last night’s neighborhood party. Everyone was concerned about how I felt, and I wish there was better news to share with them. I feel like a Negative Nelly with my complaints. The girls sang karaoke and the guys talked about plumbing issues, ailments, and cars. I’m not handy like most of them, so I try to act interested. 

I have two lunches next week, which isn’t good, since I seem to be gaining about a half-pound of weight a day. Exercise has been limited by my leg, and I continue to consume cruise-like calories. Too much alcohol and sweets! I need to put lock on the refrigerators and stay home. Instead, we’re out all the time, gathering invitations for lunches, parties, dinners, and shows. 

I rented a car yesterday for our August trip to Maine in two months. In six weeks, we go to Portland for a visit. I’ll start going to the gym next week, after my cardio rehab consultation, make a couple more trips to the chiropractor, see a neurologist, and continue to walk in the pool. I also need to drain my water heater and do some touch-up painting, to earn my keep at home. Hopefully, I can start to burn some calories, make these home improvements, relieve the pain in my leg, strengthen my muscles, and get back on the right diet track. My granddaughter grabbed on to the flab hanging from my bicep last week, another innocent reminder that my body is turning to mush. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin. 

Tally is at the dog park, while I keep an eye on Fosse. I did very little yesterday but watch the NFL draft, Pacer’s highlights, The Sopranos, and did some limited writing. I want to get back to working on “Hungry in Hungary,” but my neighbor who’s the subject has been out of town. It’s the purpose of one of next week’s lunches. I will try my best to put Negative Nelly back in the box and make next week more productive.

I never had much of a memory for movies, TV shows, and books. I watch or read but don’t retain. This is why I record them in my daily diary and on this blog, so I can check back to see when and where I last watched. Years ago, I had a thing about watching or reading the same author or director’s work twice. As has become painfully clear these past few years, I usually don’t remember a thing about what I’ve watched or read in the past. Bottom line – it makes no difference if I’ve read or seen it – it’s all new to me. 

Unlike others that can repeat the lines from memory and can recall what actor or actress played each role, I often can’t remember even the plot, let alone the cast. A good example is the series, The Sopranos, that I’m watching for at least the third time. I saw a friend’s post on Facebook that prompted me to turn it on, thinking it had been decades since I watched. It turns out it’s only been five years, with references in this blog and in my diary. Sure enough, it’s like viewing a new release, although a few bits and pieces strike a chord. 

I’ve always loved envisioning myself as a Gangsta’. Maybe I was in a past life, but like everything else, I can’t remember. Indeed, my life is like a movie, with only bits and pieces recalled. This is likely why I’m so diligent about writing things down, wishing I had started sooner than twenty-five years ago when I began my daily diary entries. I can easily search back over time, now knowing that I last watched the Sopranos with my wife in our downtown Portland apartment back in the Fall of 2019. Next, we started the “Goliath’ series, went to a matinee of “Lighthouse,” and spent a quiet Halloween without any trick-or-treaters. Both of my wife’s daughters got married and soon Covid kept us isolated from everyone. Thanks, Dear Diary, for the memories!